Red tulips
by Asradiantasthesun
Summary: Bloody red tulips, her scan lightening up like a Chrismas tree and here I am, thinking about my cursed lover


I'm not with Hazel, when she dies.

She is in the hospital; not mine, hers; with her parents and The Imperial Affliction on the drawer near her bed. There are bright red tulips there too and sun rays are getting to the room through the half-opened window, along with the smell of spring grass and cars' hum.

When Hazel dies, I'm at home, in my basement and I'm looking at the shelf when my basketball trophies used to be, before Isaac destroyed them, once upon a time. And I'm thinking about her. Wondering whether they will let me see her again, before all this madness ends. I'm thinking about the unfairness of this world, which made my fell in love with grenade so deeply and then let this grenade blew up on my eyes.

My dark, calm scan and hers lightening up like a Christmas tree.

I think about Hazel Grace Lancaster, the star-crossed love of my life, her pain and her tears, I think about how this domestic war with her own body tore her out of her dignity, but not out of her beauty- but these are casual thought and I'm not really paying attention to Hazel at that moment. I'm just laying on the couch, contemplating the cruelty of the world and the fault in Hazel's star and in the same, exact moment, she dies.

I'm not with her.

I'm a bit sappy inside and I expect I would feel something when it happens; some kind of pain in my chest, maybe even an overwhelming sadness or despair, but I don't feel anything. I continue doing nothing, I even think about bringing her flowers the next day, but then I hear my father's steps on the stairs and then, then I finally know. I don't even need to see his face; the sound of this feet on the steps, like he carries a mountain on his back; it's enough. She is not here anymore.

These few weeks before her death seem like a long nightmare to me, but then I realize what true nightmare is. It's living, breathing and smiling, when she can't. I remember that once she used a quote from some book, calling herself a drizzle and me- a hurricane. Hurricanes are beautiful and powerful, but there is nothing better than a warm drizzle during a hot summer, a drizzle which makes the air easier to breath and which saves plants tired of heat. Drizzle brings a salvation. All hurricane does, is destroy. How am I supposed to live without my summer drizzle, the girl who walks lightly?

There is not a lot of people on her funeral. Her former classmates and friends managed to forget her, she wasn't going to school for too long to remember her. There are her parents, one or two girls who used to know her, some relatives, my parents and me. Chapel seems too big for all of us and for a wooden box with the body of the girl I love in present tense inside. There are roses everywhere, but she hated roses and there are some people who didn't care about her when she was alive and she would've hated that too.

I bring her bright red tulips- just like the ones that witnessed her death. When it's my turn to see her, I put flowers on the cold floor and kneel beside her. She is pale and delicate, and it's really weird to see her without her nasal cannula. Her big eyes are closed and she looks as if she was sleeping, but she's not. It takes me only one glance to realize that. My Hazel is not here anymore. I hope she's somewhere though and I hope it's beautiful, cause she deserves to spend eternity in a beautiful place.

I don't believe in that sappy crap about angels and our loved ones watching us from above, but suddenly, I really wish I did believe, cause the view of her pale, lifeless face and small hands with nails still painted dark blue is almost too much.

Goodbye Hazel Grace. – I whisper to her , almost touching her ear with my lips, feeling a bit stupid and being quite sure she isn't hearing me anyways. But there are things I just have to do.- My love, who walked lightly. Goodbye and don't worry; you managed to not leave any scars.

Not even on me, I think to myself. The mark Hazel left on me isn't a scar- it's more like an open wound, this kind of wounds which never became scars, because they never heal.


End file.
